Discussion on writing and publishing novels and short fiction

Helena Coggan’s debut, The Catalyst, is an accomplished first novel: a fantasy-dystopia featuring strong characterisation and sophisticated world-building. The plot might be somewhat event-saturated, especially towards the end, but to me, the book has the assurance of a writer in mid-stride, rather than the occasional fumbles and missteps of a first attempt.

This would be unusual in most debut novels; in a 15-year-old’s, it’s nearly unparalleled.

This is not to say that teenagers can’t or shouldn’t write. Young writers can be both prolific and self-critical – and story-sharing sites such as Wattpad and Movellas make it easy to invite outside scrutiny. Many teenagers start out wearing fan-fiction water-wings, before plunging into the creation of characters and settings from scratch. But few of even the most popular teen authors are ready to make the leap into the exposed format of the traditionally published book.

I admire young writer Beth Reekles tremendously, not least for combining a degree in physics with her early-burgeoning career as a writer. But her first book, The Kissing Booth, now published by Random House after huge success on Wattpad, shows signs of immaturity in the unnerving relationship that it presents as romantic and alluring – the main love interest, Noah, is handy with his fists and swift to tell the 17-year-old protagonist that she’s showing too much skin, and that all the boys would hit on her if he weren’t there to ward them off. He’s presented throughout as the hottest of hot stuff; but 10 years on, a writer might be more inclined to portray him as a dangerous abuser-in-training than as the perfect romantic fit for the heroine.

There is nothing more important in writing YA fiction, though, than creating authentic young-adult voices to tell the story. It’s a hard balance to strike – an adult writer too far removed from the ever-changing emotions, technology and idioms that inform teenagers’ existence may make rookie errors that jolt the reader; a teenage writer may not yet have the skill to distil their recent experience and knowledge into book form.

This, to me, is part of what makes Coggan’s book so special: a main character who’s neither a barely animated cardboard cut-out nor an aggressively perfected version of the author. Instead, Rosalyn Elmsworth is a sometimes dislikable, believably exceptional 15-year-old – who happens to be keeping a deadly secret.

Having the ability to turn one’s own life into compelling fiction is rare for a teenage writer, but not impossible; SE Hinton’s The Outsiders, considered by many to be the first true YA novel, was mainly written when she was 16. It’s still remarkable for the close, truthful feel of the characterisation and the humane treatment of the Greasers, the gang from the wrong side of the tracks; the wry, witty, put-upon narrator, Ponyboy, is a particular triumph. (“I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.”)

A YouGov poll that has just been released rates being an author the most desirable job in Britain – with 60% of people saying they’d like to do it for a living. This is a 24% higher than those who want to be a TV presenter and a remarkable 29% higher than those who want to be a movie star.

The mind boggles – or it would if authors didn’t spend a good majority of their time assiduously, and at tedious length, trying to avoid cliches. The fact that people fantasise about being an author only proves how little they know about the reality of the job – or how under-read they are in one of the greatest of that profession, George Orwell.

It was Orwell who wrote this description of the novelist: “All writers are vain, selfish and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon which one can neither resist nor understand.“

This is not a view of writing that occupies a great deal of space in the popular imagination. On the contrary, authors are seen as rather serene, noble characters, licking their pencils, perpetually looking out the window for inspiration – which always comes – and floating in a bubble, enjoying an Olympian perspective on the world, not bound to the nine to five like the rest, but picking beautiful sentences out of the air like passing butterflies, which they trap and affix decoratively to the page.

If only it were like that. Some writers do, I admit, talk up the delights of creating fiction. All I can say is, I have been writing books for nigh on 20 years now – and it has not been out of choice but for exactly the reason that Orwell describes – “driven by some demon which one can neither resist nor understand”.

I have on more than one occasion longed for a different way of making a living, a hope that I understand now is entirely in vain, as it is my only marketable ability.